“Were you?”
Dale set down the beer, his hands shaking. “Screw you, Keegan.”
“I’ll leave that for the wife.” The admiral set down his barely touched glass. “Dale, we’ve known each other for a long time and I have to say this. I’m concerned about you, son.”
He hissed out a breath. “I’m not your son. I’m CO of the finest SEAL team in the United States Navy and a 420-year-old Mage.”
“And I have enough years to make you look like a baby sucking on his momma’s tit. Dale, you’re losing touch. I’ve had reports of you being distracted, short-tempered and restless. I don’t know if it’s a residual effect of what happened to you in that basement, or something else.”
“Reports from whom?”
“Your team.”
“Renegade? A sulky SEAL denied leave because Shay was on his honeymoon and I couldn’t afford another man out?”
“No,” Bryne said. “All of them. The entire team. Even Robyn Lees, the new ensign who thinks you can do no wrong.”
Dale sat back, trying to hide his shock. “Nice of them to tell me.”
“They’re worried about you. You’ve changed.”
Almost afraid to ask, he groped for his lost composure. “You said it was my time in the basement or something else that’s affected me. What’s the something else you think is wrong?”
“A woman.”
Dale raked a hand through his short, dark hair and laughed. “No woman’s gotten to me.” Or would want him, the way he looked. “I’m trying to catch up after being out so long. I had a difficult time healing in the hospital.”
“You were almost dead when Shay and Kelly found you.”
Temper rising, Dale straightened up. “Are you lecturing me on how I should have been smarter, knowing the waiting children were a trap? Maybe you should shake the demon’s hand, pin a medal on his chest for catching me off guard.”
Admiral Byrne gave him a long, level look. “If I found the son of a bitch who did this to you, I’d tear him apart with my bare hands. And then toss him to your team to deal with the remains.”
The quiet—but strong—statement made Dale sit back.
“The boys worship you, Dale. They don’t want another commander. They need you, but they’re reluctant to say anything to your face because lately, you’ve been difficult to talk to. You’re a damn good leader, a smart operator, a fine Mage and a close friend. So I’m saying it for them.”
Byrne leaned forward, hands on his knees. “Get your shit straightened out, Dale. Get help from a private psychiatrist or a navy one. Or I’ll assign a mind-melder to you.”
Holy hellfire. A mind-melder, diving into his deepest memories, turning him into a whimpering mess when he barely managed to hold it together now? He didn’t trust the shrinks, either.
“I don’t need a witch doctor,” he said, taking a long pull of beer, ignoring Byrne’s scrutinizing look.
“You’re too thin and haggard. Take a vacation, go see some sights...get laid and then come back and get help.”
Nearly spitting out his sip of beer, he sputtered. “You came all the way from D.C. to tell me to have sex?”
A faint memory surfaced. Sitting in Tom’s bar, a beautiful, mysterious woman staring at him. The memory became fog on glass. Damn it.
Lazily swirling the amber liquid, Byrne snorted. “Sure as hell didn’t come here for this. Damn, twenty-year-old Scotch doesn’t taste the same when you’re 1,500 years old.”
Then the admiral gave him one of his paternal, but knowing, looks. “What happened in the basement, Dale? You never talked about it. Who was that woman found with you, the wolf who vanished?”
Emotion squeezed his throat. He sucked in a deep breath. Byrne was right. He had changed, and denied it. His men deserved better. For two months, he’d hidden the truth, refusing to talk about what the demons had done to him.
“I don’t remember. Everything’s a blur. All I remember are smells and pain. The smell of a Roman orgy, this delicate, delicious female scent...and waking up to see Shay and Kelly standing over me.”
And screams tearing from his throat, until he’d fallen unconscious.
“The Roman orgy was the Centurion demons who tied you up to torture you. Shay banished them with a spell. But the woman found with you, you don’t recall her face? Or a black wolf?”
Dale shook his head, the knot in his stomach tightening. “She must be the demon wolf that tortured me. When I find her, she’ll pay. She’ll lead me to the others and I’ll send them all back to hell.”
“Remembering would help, but sounds like they infused you with a classic demon memory spell. Clouds the victim’s brain in case he survives, he can’t recall specific details.” Byrne’s expression sharpened. “So the demons can come at you again, and catch you off guard.”
Right. Like I’d ever let that happen again. “I don’t need you to watch my six. I’m not rushing headfirst into a sitch without knowing all the intel. Got it?”
Byrne’s look remained steady. “I’m not watching your six anymore, my friend. But I am serious. Get help this week or I’m placing you on mandatory medical leave for another two months and it’s going in your record that you’re mentally unstable. Your team needs you.”
The barbed wire knotted tighter in his stomach. Dale squeezed his beer bottle and felt it crack beneath his palm. He set it down, trying to regain his composure. Couldn’t let Byrne see how rattled he truly was. He didn’t trust him anymore.
Hell, he trusted no one. Not even himself.
The doorbell rang. He glanced at Byrne. “What is this? Another well-meaning friend?”
“Maybe a home invader,” the admiral suggested.
Dale headed down the hallway. The double doors were warded with magick, but anything could be lurking outside. A Girl Scout selling cookies or a demon. Or a very human home invader.
After what happened two months ago, he never took chances.
Gathering his powers, he felt the current hum through his body. And pulled open the door
Not a Girl Scout or a demon, but a petite, ebony-haired woman clad entirely in black leather, except for a powder-blue T-shirt with some kind of business logo.
Chaos.
He gave an appreciative visual sweep of his visitor. Very curvy, with long, curly hair spilling down to her waist. She had a delicate, innocent face. Wide, full lips pulled down slightly at the corners, giving her mouth a cute pout. She looked no more than eighteen.
But deep in her green eyes swirled ancient knowledge, and a weariness he’d seen in the mirror these past two months.
Parked beneath a streetlamp was a motorcycle with a very flat tire.
The girl pushed back a lock of hair. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but do you happen to have an air pump? I’ve got a flat.”
Neither the statement nor the soft, pleading words stopped him. It was the look of faint despair in those lovely, but sorrowful, sea-green eyes.
Dale glanced over his shoulder as the admiral strolled down the hallway. “She doesn’t look like a home invader.”
The girl glanced at the very intrigued and curious Admiral Byrne. Panic flared in her gaze and then her expression smoothed out. She ignored the admiral and stuck out her palm to Dale.
“I’m not. My name’s Keira Solomon. I was visiting one of